A Thousand Miles From the End
by coygeek38
Summary: End!verse, 5x04: "And now, you know, I'm practically human. I mean, Dean, I'm all but useless. Last year, broke my foot - laid up for two months." Inspiration: 'Savior' by Rise Against.


Fergus Falls, MN

The crutches didn't fit quite right. They were made for someone much shorter, but you take what you can get sometimes. Cas hunched over, his back arching uncomfortably. He wobbled a bit, experimenting with balance, before taking his first steps in days. The relief of standing again was suddenly offset by the bolt of pain that shot through his right foot. He swayed dangerously but felt strong hands on his shoulders before he could fall.

"Will they do?" Cas lifted his face to meet Dean's. The concern that briefly showed in his gruff voice was quickly hidden from his face.

Cas gave a small nod, his jaw set firmly. "Maybe another Vicodin."

Dean released Cas's shoulders, hovering close for a moment to be sure he wouldn't tip again. "Best we could find at that pharmacy in Dalton. Next run, we'll look for a pair not kiddie sized." A wry smile. Rare these days.

Cas held a breath, pressing is thin lips together, and attempted another step. Weight on the left. Lift the right. Rely on the crutch. Again. Steady.

"Take it easy, Cas. Too much too fast, you'll wear yourself out."

In one fluid motion, Dean grabbed the old wooden chair just a few feet away and slid it right behind the other man. Cas dropped back into the chair, somewhat unceremoniously.

Dean chuckled to himself, a mirthless sound.

"What?"

"Nothing." Cas's head tilted ever so slightly to emphasize his unamused expression. One corner of Dean's mouth turned up at the sight. "For an ex-angel, you're just as graceless as ever."

"Very funny, Dean." His face became more stern, if that were possible. "Your use of irony does not help the situation."

"Come on, it's not so bad."

"Not so bad?" Cas brandished a crutch in the air like a club. "I fail to see where a broken foot fits into our strategy. Help me comprehend how I can properly assist you from my sickbed—or from atop these…these buttresses!" His voice raised with each locution, booming throughout the room. "I was an Angel of the Lord, and now look at me!"

He threw the crutches to the cabin floor, the clatter of aluminum on wood punctuating his gruff shout.

Dean stood from where he was kneeling, the crutches on either side of him. He backed away a few steps, his face darkened to its usual bleak complexion. He said nothing, but to Cas he spoke volumes.

A knot lodged itself in Cas's throat. The tension in his jaw loosened and his brow knitted up in the middle.

"Dean."

For a long minute, they did not break eye contact. Cas watched the indecision in Dean's eyes, the pacing back and forth between one option or another. The shifting was apparent in his stance as well, rocking from one foot to the other, almost imperceptibly. Cas always noticed.

As usual, Dean was the first to break eye contact. His shoulders relaxed slightly and with them, the set of his jaw. He pursed his lips and dropped his head, choosing instead to look at the floor. Surrender.

"Dean," Cas said again, a quiet plea. He leaned forward on his left knee, his good leg.

Dean met his eyes again, and Cas was struck by their verdure. It seemed like forever, that Dean had been hidden behind a veil of grey, a filter that muted the vibrancy and detail of his being. He drank it in- each little scar and freckle, each fleck of gold in those impossibly green eyes, the subtle parting of his lips, and the shade of the day's growth of beard. In that rare moment, Cas could see Dean's soul again, that frail creature fractured and maimed by Alastair and his own guilty torment. Beneath that veil, beneath rough and calloused skin, beneath the crow's feet and white lines of old and new scars—all premature for his 34 years—Cas recognized the being he had pulled from the pit. A tear slipped its hold and fell down his cheek.

The stoic shell melted. Dean crossed the three paces that separated them and dropped to his knees between Cas's. His body hunched over as he gave in to his grief and pain. Cas pulled his trembling form against himself.

"I don't hate you," Cas whispered against Dean's hair.

The strong shoulders quaked as a sob shuddered through him.

"I'm sorry, Cas." Dean's voice was muffled by the linen of Cas's shirt and the tightness in his chest. "Nothing can make up for my mistakes. For Sam. For denying Michael. …For your grace. I've failed you. Over and over again."

Cas enveloped him so closely in his embrace, removing all space between them. "Shut up, Dean." The man stiffened slightly in his arms. "Please stop blaming yourself. You keep piling on the blame you think others hold for you. Burying yourself in it so thoroughly that you don't see that no one hates you." A meaningful pause. "I don't hate you. Quite the opposite, in fact."

A quiet sniffle.

Dean slowly pulled back enough to look into the other man's face, inches away from his own. He held the gaze, the impenetrable gaze of an angel. The pressure of time and memory, a weight on his spirit. He knew what he felt could be nothing in comparison to what Cas felt—what Castiel felt.

"I have watched civilizations rise and fall." As he spoke, a glimmer of his former self, of Castiel, shone in his eyes, dark now as the wine-colored sea. "A fish crawled from the ocean. I witnessed the grace in my Father's Creation. And the memory is a resounding hurricane in my mind's eye. I have watched humanity for centuries. Billions of lives, come and gone. Each one a beautiful Creature. But you, Dean, you are the best of them."

Cas brought a hand up and very gently laid it on Dean's shoulder, carefully aligning each finger with the brand beneath layers of clothing. His other hand softly brushed against Dean's cheek.

Dean leaned into the palm, his eyes heavily lidded.

"The moment I embraced you in Hell, I knew...this broken soul, this righteous man would be my undoing."

Cas swallowed hard. These words were the most important, most difficult thing he would ever say. Dean's peaceful face was a comfort, and he pushed forward.

"Do you understand? My Father willed that we love Man as we loved Him. I have loved you like no angel has ever loved a human. And like none ever will."

Dean's eyes fluttered open, and Cas saw the glassy sign of tears forming.

"Cas," Dean sighed heavily through the word. "Cas, I wish it was that easy. Redemption, atonement...heh, a happy ending. We don't get all that. We sit here, holed up away from Sam and the Devil, a thousand miles from the end, but it doesn't change anything. Team Free Will? I don't...I don't think we ever had a choice." He bowed his head in defeat.

Cas brought his other hand up to cradle Dean's face, forcing him to meet his eyes. "Don't you dare say that." Hard, stern words from between clenched teeth. "There is always a choice! Even when it hurts, I will always. Chose. You."

Dean's mouth was soft under the force of his kiss. His unpracticed lips pressed firmly, boldly, possessively, and quickly Dean yielded to him, damp with silent tears. When they parted, their breath heaved with the relief of years of pent up desire and fear.

"I need you, Cas. I can't do this without you."

"I'm with you to the end."

 _Fin._


End file.
